


Shade

by pippinmctaggart



Series: Merry & Pippin fics [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Pre-Quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-07
Updated: 2004-07-07
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:42:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3968308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippinmctaggart/pseuds/pippinmctaggart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merry hurts young Pippin's feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shade

**Author's Note:**

> A hobbit fic, once again for [](http://1420.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://1420.livejournal.com/)**1420**. Because she says so, and I write. This takes place about 7 years before the War of the Ring. Because it's _for_ my beta, it has not been beta'd. Please forgive my presumption.

“Ahh, that hits the spot,” Merry sighed contentedly. He screwed the top back on the flask of ale and let it dangle down into the river on its well-secured line.

Pippin stretched, feet cooling in the water beside his own flask of fresh berry juice. “What a lovely morning,” he happily said as he checked his fishing rod, making sure it was lodged securely amongst the stones he had arranged, before leaning back on his elbows.

“Morning?” Merry raised his eyebrow. “My frivolous young hobbit, you slept and ate the morning away. It is now well past noon. Undoubtedly the reason why no fish are biting.”

Pippin sat up in amazement. “Past noon? Goodness, no wonder I’m feeling peckish then. Pass the hamper, won't you?”

Shaking his head, Merry propped his fishing pole between his knees and with a grunt lifted the hamper to set it between them. Despite the fact that Pippin had packed it (with many apparently dense and heavy foods), Merry had had to lug it all the way to their current little hideout on the Brandywine. “Feels like you packed enough food for three days, not one afternoon,” he grumbled.

“Now Merry, don’t be surly,” Pippin reproved his cousin. “Wait until you see what I brought. Then you shall fall upon me with grateful kisses, you’ll see,” he said proudly.

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“You always doubt me, and yet I always come through in the end, don’t I?” he demanded.

“No, as a point of fact you often do not,” Merry said repressively. “I habitually find myself following in your footsteps, clearing up the destruction you’ve left in your wake.”

“How did we get from me packing lunch to suddenly being the ruin of all I survey?” Pippin muttered, a little hurt.

“Do you have any idea, Peregrin Took, how long it took me to mollify Farmer Maggot this time? I do wish you wouldn’t steal from him _quite_ so often. Honestly, next time he’s going to go straight to your parents, and I won’t be able to save you from punishment.”

“Fine,” he said, aggrieved. “I won’t do it again.”

Merry couldn’t help but smile a little at that. He softened his voice as he said, “You and I both know you will, you young rascal. I don’t mean to lecture you so severely, Pippin, but you really must be a little more careful. This is only the most recent event. What about last week when you planted the Gaffer’s prized geraniums in Milo Burrows’ work boots?” He started to get worked up again. “Or last month when you flew Celandine’s petticoats as a kite? You know she still hasn’t forgiven you for ruining her favourite undergarments. It was very irresponsible of you, and you are too old not to have grown out of these types of pranks.”

Pippin came as close to sulking as that cheerful young hobbit ever could. He snapped the lid of the hamper shut without removing any food, and although he did not get up and storm away from Merry, he did turn his back on him.

Merry knew he’d hurt his feelings. “Never mind, Pippin,“ he tried to placate him. “Come now, have a bite to eat. Why don’t you show me what you packed us?”

“Why? I probably very irresponsibly packed all the wrong things,” he muttered.

“Pip—“

But Pippin hunched over, feeling ill-treated, hugging his knees.

Merry sighed and resolved to leave him be for a little while. He returned his attention to his fishing rod, pulling it out of the water and discovering that at some point, while his thoughts had been occupied by his mischievous young cousin, the fish had completely eaten his bait. He sighed even more deeply.

 

 

Nearly an hour passed before Merry laid aside his fishing pole. He often felt much, much older than Pippin, but the truth was there was a scant eight years between them, and he was only just 30 himself. He had foolishly (and rather immaturely) been brooding for the last hour, getting more and more annoyed with Pippin. He felt both taken for granted as the magic problem-fixer, and abused by being lumped amongst the staid adults recently, though why Pippin saw him that way was a mystery. It just wasn’t fair. Merry just wanted to go back to the way things used to be, at least up until the last few months, with Pippin looking up to him and heeding him when it was necessary and loving him with that completeness that his young hobbit heart was capable of.

Putting down his pole, Merry turned and moved to his knees by the hamper. He opened it and shortly said, “Help me unpack it, please.”

He received no answer.

Even more annoyed, he turned a little further to look at Pippin, who was curled up on his side in the grass, his back still to Merry. “Do you want luncheon, or not?”

He still received no answer, and considering it involved the consumption of food, that was a little odd. Merry got to his feet and quietly padded over to Pippin, kneeling down in front of him.

Pippin’s eyes were closed, his breathing even, and Merry saw he had at some point fallen fast asleep. But his small nose was red, and his face, though dry from the (now quite hot) sun, was streaked, and Merry felt a sudden surge of love and guilt and tenderness. He gently brushed Pippin’s curls back from his forehead, and felt how warm he was from the sun overhead. He sat back on his heels, and thought for a moment.

Merry returned to the hamper and lifted a few items out. Crusty bread, cheese, a small waxed packet of pickled green tomatoes, several small meat pies, apples, grapes, and even fruit tarts. Pippin had outdone himself, packing all Merry’s very favourite foods—and what had he done? Scolded the poor lad. He cursed himself under his breath, calling himself a dozen different names as he pulled out the cloth folded at the bottom of the hamper, then repacked everything but a meat pie and an apple.

Wolfing down the heavy pastry, Merry carefully, gently placed the hamper by Pippin’s head. He walked a little ways down the bank of the Brandywine until he found two slender but still sturdy branches laying on the ground beneath a large oak tree. Returning to his cousin, still fast asleep on the springy green grass, Merry pulled his knife out of the pocket of his jacket, which was tossed across the fallen log he’d been sitting by. He sat down, dangling his feet in the water again to cool them because it really was surprisingly hot in this sheltered spot, and began to whittle at the ends of the branches, sharpening them to points with his knife. It was the work of only a few minutes, and when he had done, he climbed to his feet and cautiously but precisely drove them into the soft ground until they came to about his waist, one on either side of the prone young hobbit. He took the cloth from the hamper, shook it out, and drove the point of one branch through its forgiving weave. Tiptoeing around Pippin to the other side, he repeated the process and then draped the other end of the cloth over the top of the hamper, securing it underneath the far side. He stepped back to scrutinize his handiwork.

The canopy he had created completely shaded Pippin from the sun, but was high enough to let any and all breezes drift over him. _The lad should be comfortable enough,_ Merry thought, rather pleased with his ingenuity. He watched him sleep for a moment, then, satisfied Pippin would probably be out for some time, he picked up his apple and resumed his seat on the bank. He threaded a new worm on his hook and dropped it in the water (even though the odds of fish biting in the middle of the afternoon were against him), rinsed his fingers in the river, and began munching on his apple. He hoped Pippin would forgive him when he woke up.

 

 

“Merry?”

Merry’s chin jerked off his chest. “Yeah? Hmm? What?” he looked around dozily. He pulled his nearly-numb feet out of the water and turned to look at Pippin, who was sitting up, looking up at the canopy above him.

“Did you make this?” Pippin asked, smiling widely.

Merry chuckled, laying down his pole. A glance showed once again, the fish had cleaned off the hook. “No, dearest Pip, the elves wandered through while you slept and fashioned that for you before disappearing into the mist. They most earnestly insisted you not get sunburnt.”

He stuck his tongue out. “You mean like you?”

Merry put a hand to his face in dismay. “Oh dear. Am I red?”

“No, not at all. But I think you’d best get out of the sun for a bit.” Pippin sat cross-legged, making room in the shade for another hobbit.  “Surely it must be time to eat, anyway.”

“Well past, I should say. For you, at least. I had a snack to fortify me before building your little cover,” Merry admitted, sitting in the cool shadow beside his cousin.

Pippin reached for the hamper, but opening it dislodged the fabric shielding them. Laughing, Merry held it up over their heads while Pippin unpacked the food, and when that task was done they rearranged the cloth, draping it once again over the hamper to hold it off the ground.

“Thank you for packing such a wonderful meal, Pip,” Merry said honestly. “You were right, you came through, just as you said. I’m very sorry I shouted at you.”

Pippin ducked his head, pleased. “It’s all right, Merry,” he said meekly. “I deserved it for all the mischief I’ve caused. I’ll try to be better, I promise.”

Merry leaned back on his palms. “Tell you what, dearest cousin, let’s make a deal,” he suggested.

“What kind of deal?”

“I’ll stop treating you like you’re still a twelve year old baby, not the grown young hobbit of twenty-two that you are. I sometimes forget that, Pip, that you’re already in your tweens. I’m just so used to taking care of you that I forget you can look after yourself now.”

“I can,” he said ingenuously, then amended it to, “Well, mostly.”

“I know,” Merry nodded. “But in return I want you to do something for me.”

Pippin suddenly eyed him sideways, a chunk of bread halfway to his mouth, suspicious. “Are you trying to trick me, Meriadoc Brandybuck?”

Merry laughed. “No, Pip, I am not trying to trick you or trap you in any way. All I want you to do is stop and think once in a while. Ask yourself ‘Would Merry tan my hide if he knew I was about to do this?’ And if the answer is yes, you’d better decide if you’re ready to accept the consequences or not. You’re old enough now, Peregrin, that it’s time you started getting yourself out of your own scrapes.”

Pippin’s eyes widened, and for a fleeting moment he appeared to regret his newfound freedom.

Merry supposed it might be a bit frightening, at that. “But Pip, dearest,” he added gently, “You know you can always come to me. I will do my utmost to help you and to keep you from harm, now and always.” He reached out and tugged on one of Pippin’s curls, lightly saying, “You’re my most favourite cousin, after all.”

Merry was astonished and touched when Pippin suddenly dropped his bread and launched himself at his older cousin, throwing himself into his arms, wrapping his thin arms around Merry’s neck.

“I’ll try not to let you down, Merry,” he promised, his words muffled against Merry’s shoulder. “I’ll try and be just like you, you’re the best hobbit I know.”

“Oh, my beloved Pip,” Merry said, his voice wavering. He patted Pippin’s curly hair. “Don’t ever try to be anybody but _you_. Do you hear me? You are full of kindness and thoughtfulness beneath your flighty exterior, and your joyfulness is a wonder to behold. I adore you because you are Pippin Took and no other.”

“Love you too, Merry,” he whispered. “You’re _my_ favourite too, you know.”

Merry smiled. “I should hope so. Who else brings you fresh mushrooms when you’re sick?”

“No one. Just you,” Pippin wriggled into the crook of Merry’s arm.

“And who else convinces your parents to let you stay up late for Bilbo’s birthday parties? This year I’ll even try to persuade them to let you stay the night with us at Bag End, if you like.”

“Oh, would you really?” Pippin nearly squeaked in his delight.

“I’ll have to check with Bilbo and Frodo first, of course. But I’m sure they’ll be pleased,” Merry said, knowing it was true. “And you’ll have to promise to mind what Bilbo says.”

“I will, I will! Especially if he drinks as much gooseberry wine as he did last year,” Pippin grinned. “Pervinca and I thanked him for the party and he gave us three presents each, instead of just one!”

Merry chuckled, blew a bit of Pippin’s hair from in front of his face. “Yes, old Bilbo gets very…forgetful, when he’s been in the Gaffer’s wine. Now get off me, you rascal, you are atrociously heavy for a hobbit who hasn’t eaten all afternoon.” But before letting him go, Merry gave him a tight hug.

Pippin scrambled off Merry’s lap, heading straight for the food. “I _am_ famished. Have some cheese, Merry, it’s your favourite kind.”

“I know it is,” he smiled. “And I think I shall.”

“Merry?”

“Yes, Pip?” Merry bit into the sharp cheese.

“If we stay until dusk, the fish will start biting again.”

“Yes, they would. Would you like to stay?”

“Well, if we stay,” he said indelicately around a mouthful of meat pie, “and catch lots of fish, you could come over in the morning and we’ll have them for second breakfast. I’ll even clean them, I know how. And we could invite cousin Frodo over as well.”

“That sounds like a very good plan, Pippin.”

“And there’s time for you to take a nap, if you like,” he offered. “You can stay under here in the shade.”

“Why are you being so solicitous of my comfort, Master Took?” Merry, stifling his grin, raised an eyebrow at the younger hobbit. He was surprised when Pippin flushed and looked down.

“I’m sorry I was mad at you. You were—you are—always kind to me, and I should not have been so terribly rude.”

“It’s all right, Pippin,” he said warmly, squeezing Pippin’s shoulder. “You had a right to be angry with me, I hurt your feelings. I’m sorry too.”

The younger hobbit looked up at him. “We’ll always be together, right?”

“Always, Pip.”


End file.
